The darkest places are most beautiful because you can't see the faults in physicality 

Post box

Post box idea. 

Idea that a postbox is filled with people's secrets and lives. 

Love letters, greetings, cards for birthdays and Christmas etc

Delphine blurb

Link to the Annabel McCourt video.

http://vimeo.com/42978236





BLURB
An emotional tale on a lonesome journey of self discovery. Delphine excludes herself from society, Living by the sea that she investigates, Delphine lives alone in her caravan giving her a lot of time to reflect on her younger self. Her seclusion however does not mean that nobody speaks to her. She can hide from her demons but she can't stop their voices.

Soon come, first draft. Late night ramblings.

Brows crease bones break blood flows; effervescent
thoughts tangle. A black widow spinning them beyond your control.
She poises herself within the cracks of ones self, interlacing her geometric silk beyond the ambuscades hidden deep within.
A nihilist she seeks destruction, now, anger prevails more prominently than before.
Avarice yearns entirely; becoming her.
Transmundane she awaits her martyr.
"soon come my darling."

Ticking - unfinished

Midnight has while passed and still I fail to wander upon the vast plane of sleep. Doubts of the act introduce themselves within my uninterested mind, although, the act of sleeping seems nonsensical; I am already dreaming of you.

ROSES- a reminder to write about these vibrant beautiful fellows

Nervosa - Poem, unfinished.

The girl in her reflection is not the one I saw.
The girl in her reflection everyone adores.
The girl in her reflection counted every flaw.

 The girl in her reflection hates every inch of skin.
 The girl in her reflection her emaciates within.
The girl in her reflection yearning to be thin.

 The girl in her reflection is now the one I see, the girl in her reflection is who I wish to be.
 Bones, scars, porcelain skin. 
To only explain how wrong she was- now where would I begin?

APRIL. Poetry, first draft.

APRIL.

She was the type of girl the stars come out at night to watch.

She was the type of girl to scope the sky with jaundiced eye

nefarious heart. She fell apart.

When nighttime came she lost her way. Destroyed herself. She is a waste.

Sombre thoughts left by stars, seldom serene she was scarce.

She was the type of girl to notice life. Morning, evening

 raw at night.

As much she tried to escape, irreparable she felt her fate.

The cautious stars watched her frame. All they wished, to steal her pain.

Unaware- she gazed, impaired. 

She cried for help but no one heard as she watched the stars that ceased her years.

Wistful thinking

I sat in class, an evidently eccentric man before me. A poet; a man; a traveller; an observer of the world much like you and I.  

Anthony Suter. That is all I knew.

 It was rather uninteresting to say the least, the combinations of vowels and consonants seemed almost strenuous; floating aimlessly around the air so close to my grasp, I just couldn't find the energy to reach out for them.

 Instead I wistfully gazed out of the window, an audience to the too and fro of elegant dancers dressed in the finest silver silk. Green hair flowing long and wild in the wind- entrancing every fleck of gold within my iris.

 Unable to look away I fell further down the rabbit hole until I came to an abrupt halt...